X Amount of Words
by Blackrose Kitsune
Summary: Hiei had told me, “We aren’t meant to be together.” And although I had sensed the lie even then for what it had turned out to be, he must surely have known something I had not when he had said it, if Fate was to be any indication. /HK & YK. Slash-ish/
1. I: X Amount of Words

_**X Amount of Words**_

_**---**_

He is so proud of her — I can see that in his eyes. How he just stands there, watching from across the crowded room as she mingles with the rest of the guests, flitting about like the social butterfly he knows she is. The people crowded into the small family room are not friends, exactly. No, she would have time for them later, he had assured her; these people are her family, or the closest thing to it that she has, although perhaps the word is slightly unconventional. She is enjoying herself despite this however, her bright voice bouncing joyously through the entire enclosure as she talks to one of her younger cousins, Yukiko, Kuwabara and Yukina's youngest daughter. And as he watches her, with so much self-pride, so much satisfaction, so much love spilling from his russet gaze — so too, I watch him.

I smile fondly at the scene before me. No, a full-house is not uncommon here. It never has been. Not in all the years I'd come to live with him, with her. But, by the same notion, it is a rare thing to see him smile so freely, so sincerely. And I positively treasure the sight.

He is not old, being only thirty-four, and his semi-demonic heritage makes his aging process almost as slow as my own. But despite this, silver shoots through his otherwise charcoal-black hair, and there are lines set in his face that I know had not been there only a decade and-a-half before. And I know, as does he and everyone else in this room — except perhaps the young woman he watches now — that the silvering hair and the age lines are not a result of the natural progression of one's age. If anything, they are the remnants of all the stress and hardship he has weathered in the foregone decade.

This thought makes me sigh, however; I had not been as present as I should have or could have been during several of those years. Knowing this, and knowing that I am here now, after so much neglect to him — to her — to them both, makes me feel slightly undeserving to be standing here.

These thoughts heavy on my mind, I shake my head slowly and let a dry chuckle roll off of my lips.

Now of all times is not the time for me to be bemoaning anything, I remind myself, still mildly amazed at how, even after so many years, my pessimism still comes so naturally. Then I turn my attention and my footfalls towards the man and the girl that I love.

Noticing that he has slipped away from my immediate line of vision I search the room for him again amid all the other familiar bodies. I am not worried about him — no one in this room would dream of hurting him — but I wish to know where he is.

_Me, protective?_

_Never._

When I spot his outline moving into the kitchen, followed by the smaller silhouette of Moriko, I sigh. Probably, I tell myself, he has finally managed to pull her aside to congratulate her, and in this mindset, I begin to follow their steps. They are heading into the kitchen, no doubt to escape the noise and crowd that presses upon them in the living room.

As I draw nearer, the two have already situated themselves around the kitchen bar. He is sitting on one of the stools, elbows slumped on the counter, head in his hands, and she is standing before him, biting her lip and fidgeting uncertainly.

Slightly bewildered, because this is so far from the scene I had expected to come upon, I stop and duck behind the arched door that leads from the living room into where they are. Perhaps eavesdropping is wrong — and this mortal coil finds it more appalling that his demon counterpart, rest assured — but these people are ones I love; they are my family.

Of course I can give them a moment alone, their relationship considered.

But I cannot pull myself away, my relation to them considered.

"Oh, Ba," she addresses him, her voice soft, tinged with sadness. "I'm so sorry." I can see her shuffle from foot to foot, a normal, nervous gesture of hers

"Don't be sorry, not for your old man," he laughs dryly, head still hung in his hands.

"But Ba, what am I supposed to be, if not sorry?" she asks, with all the innocence of a child still as young as she, at merely fourteen.

She does not like to see her Ba — my Yuusuke — in pain any more than I do, but she does not know how to go about comforting him, either.

"Nothing, my Moriko-hime," he assures her, shaking his head in his hands and spilling loose strands of charcoal between his fingers with the motion. "Nothing."

At this, she hangs her head for a long moment sending a spill of long chestnut hair over her slumped shoulders and into her eyes. "But Ba———" she whines then, deciding on an alternate route of nipping his sudden melancholy in the bud. "Today is a day of _celebration_—" she enunciates. "You should be happy for me, not moping around."

This brings a sigh to his lips and forces him to raise his head. With a horrified start I realize there is dampness on his face and he wipes it away with a gruff "Hrrmph" as he nods and concedes to his wily daughter, "I know, I know," with a course laugh.

"Ba," she mumbles, suddenly ashamed at herself when she sees his face, "I'm sorry — I guess — I guess I just — uhm. Well… Oh, I don't know, Ba…" she stumbles over the words, leaves the sentences unfinished.

"You know," he chuckles, and the sound is slightly more lively. "Keiko would be so proud of you, Moriko. She really would be… Just having been accepted into one of the most prestigious all-girl schools in the country — she would be thrilled for you. I know she would be."

This praise brings tears to her own dark eyes. I cannot see them, but I can guess at their presence by noticing how her shoulders begin to shake silently as she takes in the words.

"You — you really mean that, Ba? Really? Mama would be proud of me?" She asks slowly, the words coming out entirely unsure, as though she is afraid to believe them.

He nods and gets up, probably more stiffly than normal, and pulls his daughter into a tight embrace as he assures her, "Yes, she would, hime-chan. I know it."

And now I know for a fact she is crying because I can hear the silent sobs choking their way past her throat as she wonders, forever innocent, "Ba, do you think she's here now?"

"Of course she's here now," he nods firmly, his chin bobbing against the top of her head as he does. He gives her another squeeze and repeats, "She's here now and I know she's looking down on you and thinking, 'that's my girl and I'm so proud.'"

More quiet sobbing is the only thing to greet this statement of fact from him. He sighs into her hair and holds her for a long moment. The agony in his eyes as he gazes down at his daughter is palpable, even after fourteen years, and a dagger of pain rips through my very soul as I acknowledge just to what degree he still continues to mourn for his late wife, so many years later.

"And you know what else she's saying, Moriko?" he asks gently, coaxing his daughter's face up to meet his so that her watery eyes lock with his. "She's saying 'and I love her so much and I wish I could be with her' — I know she is, hime-chan."

"I know, Ba," she admits quietly, pulling away, suddenly huffy, tired of the fatherly affection, no doubt. "And you know," she adds, insightfully, "she's also saying, 'and I love and miss my husband,' because you know, Ba, she would be here for you, too."

A quick pat on her small shoulder is all I catch before I turn away and pull myself from the curve of the archway, to hurry through the crowd in the living room. No, it isn't jealousy at hearing Moriko refer to her father as his late-wife's possession — he truly is her Yuusuke — but, he is mine too.

I know Moriko has accepted this a long time ago. No, I am not nor will I ever be her "Ba" or "Tou-chan" or even "Uncle Kurama", but she has known about and encouraged my relationship with Yuusuke from the very beginning, and I know she loves me as I love her.

But, of course, I will never take the place of her mother.

And of course, I will never take the place of his Keiko.

And while I know this, and have come to accept it over the past several years, the pain this knowledge incites is unbearably acute and vicious. It is not so much because I am not and will never be Yuusuke's true love. And it has little to do with knowing that I will be forever a second in both of their hearts.

_No._

The pain, while partially acclaimed to the prior reasons, has more to do with my own lingering unrequited feelings for a certain person. While not Yuusuke's first love, or even family to Moriko, their love for me is genuine and wholly reciprocated. And I am not so greedy as to deny that emotion solely on a second-handed basis.

But the love that I gave freely and unconditionally to Hiei…

At the thought of his name alone a sharp stab of pain doubles me over inside. Mentally, I cringe. After so long, that I should still feel so vibrantly the sting of his nonchalant rejection is both misery incarnate and a testament to just how truly and thoroughly I loved him.

Without my having realized it, my feet have carried me through the over-crowded living room and out onto the porch. And although startled to find myself suddenly surrounded by the red-pink and golden hues of a day soon put to slumber, I am rather grateful to be standing here, in this moment.

The dusk moves in slowly, gold threads weaving through sparse cloud cover and streaks of pink, red and orange melt together seamlessly, a mosaic of watercolors brushed against the horizon as the sun dips slowly, ever-gradually, beneath the earth. A light breeze stirs through the trees and it whips through my hair, raising a line of goose bumps along my neck. In the past, such a breeze would whip long carmine threads about my face in a seductive frenzy, my flesh untouched by the lustful brush of dusk's hand. Today, however, my hair is cut short; typical of a man in his mid-thirties. With the wave of nostalgia that the fading spring day ushers on, a small smile curves my lips, and I close my eyes and let my breath escape me on a long sigh.

_What a day for remembering… recollecting…_

"Kurama."

The name is familiar, I register it as my own, and the voice is one I never let myself dare to believe I would hear again. My placid smile thins slightly and I shake my head, eyes remaining firmly closed, as I berate myself for letting the set-in nostalgia turn into a full-blown auditory hallucination.

"Kurama, stupid Fox, get that constipated smirk off of your face, open your damn eyes, and look at me, will you?"

_Strange_, I muse dryly, still refusing to feed my insanity further by opening my eyes. _My hallucination sounds positively viable…_

"_Aisai…"_

At this, my eyes snap open reflexively, a cold bead of sweat trickling down the side of my face as I haltingly question my sanity at this point. Because for as much as I was enjoying my hallucination — his voice as endearing to me even now as it was almost fifteen years ago — even my subconscious should not be so willing to spite me physically with sweet murmurings of a pet name now long dead to me.

"It's about time, Kurama," snaps the man before me, satisfaction evident in his tone.

I stare blankly, not willing to believe my eyes, even as they focus unerringly on the familiar silhouette standing not three feet before me. I feel my mouth fall open in a small 'o' of disbelief as I take him in — nearly fifteen years have come to pass and not a thing has changed; he is just as I have always pictured he would be: from the sharp angular planes of his face to the swell of his silky raven-dark hair and the startling and sinister beauty of his vermillion eyes.

"H-Hiei?" I croak, my voice cracking as the word chokes itself from behind a hard knot in my throat. And all at once there is a thunderous wave of relief that washes over me at seeing him — at living this reality — and a swelling of emotion—

And just like that, the spell is broken.

As soon as the realization of the swelling feeling in my chest registers with my backlogged brain, I bite my lip, quiet the barrage of words that I would have no doubt laid upon him.

_No_, my conscience tells me. _I will not put myself through this again._

_It's more than that_, it continues to nag me, as I concede that the surge of feelings I had almost loosed upon the hiyoukai standing — unwelcome as a rat infestation — upon this property, does not need to be waylaid solely because I know, should I be hurt again, that I would be unable to put myself back together again.

_No…_

_Yuusuke…_

After all I have gone through since Hiei's flight… After everything Yuusuke and I have been through together… What right do I have to make light of our pain, our heartache, when it stems the love we now share? What right do I have to throw that away just because the ghost of my past wants to come haunting my present?

"What do you want, Hiei?" I finally manage to get out, my voice suddenly tight in restrained anger. The question leaves my tongue cold as ice, smooth as steel, and with a hint of venom.

_What right does he have to encroach upon my happiness like this?_

For the briefest of moments a look close to pain flashes across his features as my cold words breathe over him. But before I can register it surely for what I take it to be, he has arranged his features once again into a carefully constructed blank mask.

"Hn," he spits, eyes narrowing into a glare as he crosses his arms across his chest and regards me with a long upward sweep of ruby eyes. "Checking up on things. You have a problem with that, Kurama?"

_Actually, I do_, I think mutinously, but voice a suspicious, "After fifteen years? How thoughtful of you, Hiei," instead.

At the inquisition, he shuffles his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable at my having brought up the fact; as though fifteen year's worth of nonexistence can be so easily overlooked, so easily forgiven.

And, perhaps, to him, fifteen years is an insignificant time — hardly worth counting as any length of time against the backdrop of a demon lifespan. But when most of us have human lives to live out, mortal coils to exhaust, fifteen years is startlingly significant.

And perhaps this doesn't matter to him, which I think may be the case when he finally answers me with an indifferent, "Hardly important. I'm back, aren't I? Who cares at what length?"

The words '_I do' _lay in wait at the back of my tongue, waiting to coalesce into the space between us, but instead the more accurate, "No one, Hiei," takes their place.

"What?" The word is a dangerous hiss, a mere whisper of breath, and the anger in the single syllable is overwhelming.

Calmly, I repeat, "No one, Hiei," watching as a curious wash of emotions shifts over his sharp face at the words. "No once cares anymore."

Suddenly there is an edge to his voice as he asks, haltingly, "What? What do you mean, Kurama?" And, if I'm not mistaken, there is a taint of fear in the words. It elicits a small, derisive smile from me.

"You left, Hiei," I tell him evenly, crossing my arms before my chest to match him. I pause a moment to look behind my shoulder, through the glass doors separating the porch from the living room, to search out Yuusuke or Moriko. No sight of them, yet.

"But I came back, Kurama," he amends sharply, causing me to look back at him with a look that makes him cast me a disgusted look. No doubt, he does not appreciate the pity in my gaze.

"Fifteen years too late to make a difference, Hiei," I tell him softly. "Everyone here—" I gesture to myself with a sweep of my arm, and behind me to the house full of people, a mere glass partition away. "—Everyone has moved on."

His eyes are suddenly regarding me in an all-too-familiar way, a fire so hot burning within their smoldering depths as they travel the length of my body to lock unblinkingly upon my own harsh viridian gaze. When he speaks his voice is soft. "Even _you_, Kurama?"

Before I can answer him — before I can even think about forming the words to do so — I feel a too-strong, too-abrupt breeze. And before I can fully comprehend it — before I can make sense of his sudden flight — I feel the harsh push of his lips against mine and the slightly desperate pull of deft fingers as one hand twines itself in my short hair and the other moves to cup my face to keep me from backpedaling.

A moment comes to pass in which I regain use of my extremities and I force my arms between us, laying my palms firmly against his black-clad chest and pushing. My fingers may well be feathers for as much effect as they have in moving him. All the action elicits from him is an angry grumble against my lips and a clenching of his fingers against my jaw as he tries to force me open.

"Hiei, stop this!" I demand angrily, continuing in my attempt to push him away as he presses himself more firmly against my front, refusing to relinquish his position. "Hiei!" I snarl, my voice cracking as I feel the rough wet tip of his tongue dart out to trace a wet line around the contour of my bottom lip. At the sensation a feeling of warmth seeps into lower parts of me and for a moment I lose my string. I am so tempted to give in to this wily, demanding demon. So ready for this after fifteen years of negligence…

_Yuusuke..._

The merest, briefest, most chaste thought of him snaps me abruptly back to my senses, and I try once again to pry my face from Hiei as he moves his hand from my cheek to meander down the curve of my spine and rest appreciatively on my rear.

"Hiei!" I all but yell his name. And for as much as my body responds to his ministrations, and for as much as I want to give myself in to them, his name is screamed with not a hint of pleasure. It is a snarl of pure rage as I shove hard against him. "Hiei, stop this!"

And finally, finally he has the leverage he needs to force his sleek little tongue into my mouth. My stomach flutters at the sensation, but thoughts of Yuusuke keep me from sinking quite so far, and I struggle anew, desperate to disengage him from around me. _Inari! I need a moment to think. Perhaps…_

I squirm my arms from between us, giving up trying to push him away — wrapped around me as he is like a constrictor — and bring them around his petite form, twining slender fingers in the raven tresses of his hair. And then I yank, good and hard. For all my effort, all I get from him is a low, guttural moan as he presses himself against me more firmly, his erection starkly obvious to me through the thin layers of clothes separating us.

I pull once more against those silky tendrils of hair, hoping to pry his face just far enough away for me to spit in it, or something equally vile to make my utter distaste known. And I manage it. Barely. When I pull him back he looks up at me, eyes clouded with lustful fire, breathing labored, and a contented smirk angling across his smooth face.

"Hiei," I snarl, my eyes pulled into a harsh glare, voice a deadly whisper. And then he is on me again, taking advantage of my lapse to force his way into my mouth again and press upon me and—

"Ku—Kurama?"

_Oh, Inari no! No!_

_Yuusuke!_

His voice washes over me like a knife cutting a whole new set of scars into my soul with the sheer hurt radiated in that single word.

Instinct clamps my jaw together and I hear a startled "Owwwwwww!" from Hiei as he pushes back from me holding his nearly-severed, bleeding tongue between his thumb and forefinger and regards it with furrowed brows. But I pay this little mind as I find myself spinning back to the porch doors just to see Yuusuke pushing his way back through the crowded living room, the glass door slamming into the wall pane with a loud crash!

"Yuusuke!" His name leaves my lips as a strangled sort of sob and I turn back to Hiei, who's staring at me with wide, innocent eyes, and spit at him. "Bastard!" I scream, the word barely discernible as a wave of panic floods my system and I howl like the wounded animal that I am. "Bastard, bastard, _BASTARD!"_

Hiei watches me quietly, his expression remarkably composed for having someone scream at him as I am. There is something marginally different about his eyes now, though. The fire is still there, buried somewhere deeper down, but the certainty has left them.

The words are a broken whisper as he tells me, "Kurama, I love you."

And this stops me cold for a moment, cutting me off mid-rant, as I regard him anew with wild, disbelieving eyes. "You… _what?!" _I ask flatly, blinking hard and shaking my head violently enough that my neck cracks in angry protest.

He takes a deep breath and exhales the words again. "Kurama, I love you…"

And still, _still_ the words mean little to me. Faintly, my conscience nags me that there was a time, long ago — fifteen years ago — that I would have died to hear those words. Today? Well, now I hardly register them over the buzzing in my skull.

To answer him, I form a barely coherent, "Well, it is just a bit too late for that now, Hiei," as I cast a pained look over my shoulder again and turn on my heel to march inside and find Yuusuke. _My Yuusuke. _And apologize.

From behind I hear a prickly laugh that raises the fine hairs at the nape of my neck to abrupt attention and then, in a silky whisper, I hear Hiei say:

"Sure it's too late now, Kurama?"

And at that moment, I snap.

I forget about wanting to run to Yuusuke to apologize. I forget that the longer I take to find him, the more I delay baring my soul to him, the harder it will be to reclaim him and reclaim his trust. I forget about the sudden gaping hole in my chest and he pain coursing through me, like thorny vines piercing into my heart, bleeding me dry from the inside out. I forget about the room full of people behind us and I forget that I am, indeed, a thirty-six-year-old man.

Nothing matters except the words that spring from my lips as I scream "Burn in Hell, Hiei!" and lunge for his throat.

---

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho, unfortunately. Just the twisted mind that comes up with these plot bunnies.

_**Notes:**_The term "Aisai" means "beloved wife." A play on the fact that of the H/K relationship, Hiei is normally considered seme, so the fact that his endearment refers to Kurama as "wife" is a play of that.

_**Ramblings: **_Leave a comment at the door, honest opinions intact, yes? And keep an eye out for future chapters and for _Enigma_ to be updated soonish-ly as well.

Blackrose


	2. II: Two AM Lovesick

_Chapter II: Two A.M. Lovesick_

---

The rage comes over me so suddenly, so naturally, that I hardly question it, barely stop to wonder why after so long even my emotions remain strung to a very short fuse; why the heat flooding through my veins feels almost welcome — a relief. The blood pounding in my ears, in fact, is a comfort, and drowns out the sound of my own voice as I scream threats of violence into the startled face of my assaulter before instinct completely overrules my better mentality and I lunge at him.

"Hiei, you bastard, how could you?" I demand, my hands finding purchase in the fabric of his cloak as he tries to spin away from me and fails. "What is _wrong_ with you?!" I continue, yanking back hard on the billowy fabric and pulling him around harshly, so that he loses balance and crashes ungracefully to the floorboards.

The look in his eyes is not so much frightened as it is startled as he looks up at me and scrambles pathetically to his feet. "Kurama—" he begins, his voice a level, placating monotone.

Before he can do more to right himself I am in front of him, my face mere inches away from his, my breathing labored and angry and my eyes narrowed into jade slivers. I can feel myself shaking as I round on him, anger literally vibrating off of me. "Go back to the hole you crawled out of, Hiei," I tell him quietly, my voice constricting in anger and venom dripping from each syllable; soon, I know, he will be facing much more than just a threat of violence.

He does not flinch away from my hostile proximity, at least not much. But I can sense his unease, the subtle shifting of his aura to a slightly defensive state, as he meets my steely gaze. And in slow, measured syllables he tells me, heatedly, "I have as much right as anyone to be here, Kurama."

"You are mistaken," I tell him coldly, spitting the words out through tightly clenched teeth. "You relinquished the right to that fifteen years ago, when you left."

He bristles at this sentiment, his eyes wavering ever-so-slightly from my face as he takes the words in and counters with, "I was always leaving back then — this wasn't the first time I'd left."

"No," I shake my head slightly, closing my eyes and letting a dry laugh fall from my lips, the edges curling into a small, cynical smile. "But it _was _the _last time_."

"Stop talking nonsense, Fox," he accuses stonily, jabbing a finger hard into my chest.

I grab the appendage out of disgust and reflex reaction, and as I grip it in my hold I see an inkling of fear simmer in the depths of his ruby eyes. "Do not touch me again, Hiei," I warn hotly, tone light, almost casual.

"What are you going to do about it, Kurama?" he sneers then, drawing himself closer to me with each mocking word until he is mere centimeters away from my face, leaning up on his toes to accommodate the height difference between us.

A tremor of anger runs through me and I clench my hands tightly, feel the give of soft tissue in one of them as I wonder how much energy it would take to rip his arm off rather than just snap a finger. My lip twitches up at the thought, but before I can act on it, his breath washes across my face, close — too close, and I seize up, deathly still, as he continues, in a low, calculating hum.

"Come on and tell me, Kurama. What are you going to do about it?" he asks again, drawing, unbelievably, closer still. "You couldn't do anything about it fifteen years ago — you were _begging_ me to touch you the—ungh"

I am barely aware of having moved, much less of having punched him, but suddenly he is out of my face, doubled over and clutching his stomach, coughing to catch his breath. And I am standing before him, towering over him, an angry sentinel, my arm partially extended and my fist clenched into a tight ball. I can feel myself shaking, a fine tremor that starts in my extended fist and courses down my arm into my core as the adrenaline rush wears off and my logical mind clicks back into function.

_Hiei returned…_

_He came on to me…_

_Yuusuke saw it and misinterpreted it…_

_We argued…_

_I hit Hiei…_

"I—I told you not to touch me again," I stammer weakly, a sick knot forming in my stomach as the reality of this situation, the gravity of it all, crashes into me in earnest and I regard his coiled in form with bitterness and a tinge of regret.

Through clenched teeth and an uneven intake of breath I hear him grind out, "I came back, Kurama. _I came back_."

In his voice too, is regret, a long-standing sadness, and I am marginally conscious of the buoyed feeling the words elicit in my heart, though it does little to quell the sinking in my stomach as I tell him, same as before, though with not as much feeling, "You came back too late, Hiei."

"Not after what the Detective just saw," he argues flatly, slowly straightening up, wincing and clutching his side as he does so.

"What _Yuusuke _saw—" I put delicate emphasis on my lover's name, "—was a misunderstanding, Hiei. _A mistake that should never have happened_," I correct slowly, anger coloring the words.

I take great joy in seeing him noticeably flinch as he takes in my latest statement. But within a hairbreadth of a moment he has reconstructed his facial features into that perfect mask and merely asks, with no more than a hint of feeling to the words, "A mistake, Kurama?"

I shrug somewhat tensely and agree with a curt nod. "Yes, a mistake, Hiei. I have Yuusuke—"

"You _had_ Yuusuke!" he points out lightly, a small smile on his lips much to my annoyance. "Do you really think that after what he saw—"

"Yuusuke will forgive me, Hiei," I tell him, without a doubt in my mind that this is true. "Because, unlike _you_, Hiei, he _loves_ me."

Another flash of emotions washes over his face as I say this to him, but unlike before, where he had put his mask back up in such short order, the emotion stays on his face, plain as day. And the emotion is regret as he confides, "I was scared, Kurama."

For a moment I feel sympathetic towards him, and the feeling softens my gaze slightly as I continue to watch him. But my words, when I speak, remain untouched. "You think I was not?"

"I didn't know what to do—"

"—So you left," I finish, matter-of-factly, the words a whisper rolling off my tongue, bittersweet.

"What would you have done, Fox?" he accuses sharply, leveling a glare at me.

"It does not matter what I would have done. You made the decision for us, Hiei," I tell him simply, turning my head to glance unblinkingly over his shoulder. "Back then, I had no say."

For a moment the two of us stand in silence. The night, long having fallen around us, is peaceful, a soft breeze rustling through nearby foliage. A few stars wink overhead and I train my gaze on them tiredly. The words I call forth now, when they leave my lips, are heavy:

"And now, Hiei, you have no say, and I am making _this_ decision for us. You need to leave."

"Kurama…" The word is pleading and I feel him step closer to me. "This time can be different…"

"This time it _is_ different," I tell him coldly, turning away, signaling that he should take leave.

"I love you…" he says again, and the emotion behind it is palpable; enough so that I know he means the words, and this saddens me.

I would have given anything to have heard them spoken so many, many years ago. And now that I am finally graced with their presence, they are nothing but empty syllables to me, a painful reminder of the past and all the things in it I am powerless to change; all the mistakes that went uncorrected and all of the emotions that always went ignored. Until finally, today, it comes full circle. And not a thing has changed.

_Because now, as always, it is just too late._

I feel a small warm hand close around my shoulder and I flinch away, shrugging it off as I tell him, simply, without turning around, "please do not touch me, Hiei."

"Kurama, I made a mistake," he tells me, as though this changes everything instead of nothing as he pulls his hand back slowly.

"And I have made a mistake, as well, Hiei. I should be talking to Yuusuke right now," I counter quietly as I begin to close the short distance between the glass door separating me from the rest of the household and myself.

"I came back, Kurama," he tells me again, his voice rising an octave, as though this might be incentive enough for me to turn around; turn away from everything I have built up around myself in the past decade-and-a-half. There is a pleading note in the sentiment and it makes my heart thud loudly in my chest, painfully, to know that I am walking away from it when so long ago I would have been walking towards it so willingly.

"And this time," I tell him, my voice catching slightly on the syllables, "I am the one leaving," as my hand closes around the wooden pane of the partition and eases it open on the frame allowing me to slide inside without so much as a backward glance.

---

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Still applies, and I still don't own any aspect of Yu Yu Hakusho.

**Ramblings:** Thischapter didn't come out quite the way I wanted it to. Definitely, it isn't as long as I've have liked, and more than that, I feel like they are both fairly OOC, which doesn't sit well, but you tell me. Probably two more chapters to go on this fic, if the muse is willing, and then I should be able to pick up _Enigma _again. Maybe even _Unmistaken, _for those who wondered what happened with _that._ Anyway, same as always, please leave your comments at the door, honest opinions intact. ConCrit gladly accepted and appreciated.

Blackrose


	3. III: The Fallen Interlude

**WARNING:** The ending is NOT happy. Don't like, don't read. S'why part of the genre is TRAGEDY.  
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Chapter III: The Fallen Interlude_

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I do not know what his words are to me as I turn my back on him and walk inside; the sound of them strikes me but the words themselves are lost behind the door sliding shut, leaving the syllables muted behind the Plexiglas, dull thrumming against my eardrums. I imagine them to be bitter, full of the anger that is reciprocated between us. Most probably they are screams of my cowardice — that I should walk away from him at all shows my complete unwillingness to stand before the demons I shackled some fifteen odd years ago, and he surely sees it so much as I feel it in my bones. And, no doubt, he is calling me out on it.

I do not know, nor do I care, if he is still there on the porch once the door closes behind me, effectively separating me from him once again. Knowing him, I imagine he has left; out of anger or out of sadness matters little. He just is not the type to come crawling back. That he has once already tonight is a surprise and a miracle. That he will do it again, remaining outside even a blink longer than necessary only to run after me once more is an impossibility. Stubborn and set in his ways he may be, but a fool he is not and he knows the dictum 'once bitten, twice shy' as well as any demon.

I run my hands through my hair in agitation, willing my thoughts away from him, admitting that while those I do harbor toward him are far from congenial, the fact that I should dwell upon him at all in light of the situation is an aberration in itself.

A sigh falls from my lips and I cringe at the deflated sound. What a fine day this has turned out to be, I think, ever the cynic, as I make my way through the living room and the bodies still wandering within the suddenly unwelcoming walls.

I tense as I brush against a shoulder here, a forearm there, as I push through the congested room and wonder why, all of a sudden, the slightest touch from these familiar bodies, however fleeting, makes me feel like an unwelcome guest in the house, a filthy home wrecker.

"Stop this nonsensical thinking," I mumble to myself in a last ditch attempt to assure myself that the feeling of foreboding is wholly misplaced and that I am making a mountain from a molehill. "You are blowing things out of proportion — worrying too much for your own good…"

"Kurama, m'man!"

I turn, startled, and my eyes land on the familiar, looming figure of Kuwabara heading towards me with Yukina hanging off of his arm in time to their two adorable twin girls latching themselves around my calves. They squeal in unison, sing-song voices, "Uncle Kurama, Uncle Kurama!"

Dutifully I tick my lips into a small smile, fully aware that it does not reach my eyes and hoping that Kuwabara and Yukina will chalk the half-mustered attempt up to exhaustion from a long day, rather at irritation at having been sidetracked in my quest to find my lover.

"Good evening, Kuwabara," I address lightly, nodding as I add, "Yukina."

"We were hoping to catch ya, man," Kuwabara replies while shaking his head at the sight of his two young daughters tangled around my legs. Yukina calls them off with a gentle reprimand and the two scamper back to her side, eliciting a more pronounced smile of thanks from me.

"Were you?" I inquire, hoping not to sound too prompt, but making apparent the fact that I have places to be.

"Yeah," he shrugs, pulling Yukina into a one-armed hug and taking the proffered hand of one of the twins in his free hand. "See, the girls' bed time is long-past, and me and Yukina need to get back home."

"Ah, of course," I nod in fervent agreement, glancing down at the girls who are trying to hide their fatigue to the best of their six-year-old abilities with little luck. "Well, thanks for being able to share this day with us — I know it meant a lot to Moriko to have you all here—"

"Yeah, of course," he waves the comment aside offhandedly, adding, "she's family to us, you all are, it's not like we _wouldn't_ have come. Anyway—" and here he stops and has the grace to look puzzled and worried all at once.

"Yes?" I prompt, hoping he will soon make his point.

"Well, we tried telling Yuusuke this. But last I saw him he was stumbling towards you guys' bedroom in a real state. I tried callin' out to him, ya know? But Urameshi — he just kept on, like he didn't hear me." He shrugs at this, a stiff half-rise of one shoulder, and gives me a worried look.

I worry at my lip and I see that the action elicits a spark of deeper worry in Kuwabara's dark eyes. Even after so many years I have always been careful about hiding my more negative emotions, worry included. That I so freely show my worry over his words by gnawing at my lip probably unnerves him. As well it should, if I am to be completely honest.

"I see," I begin slowly, another sigh rolling from my tongue. "Thank y—"

"Kurama, ya know, I think today got to him," he cuts across me then, all of a sudden, striking me momentarily dumb with the observation, the honest, raw sincerity and concern of it. "What with Moriko's luck and… well, Keiko being… well. You know…"

I nod, glancing over my shoulder towards the hallway that leads into our shared bedroom. I hope the action will signal to Kuwabara not only my desire to be exactly where he seems to think I should be — with Yuusuke — but also to gather myself against the sudden stinging moisture behind my eyelids that I cannot allow him to bear witness to.

"I think you should go be with him, man," he tells me then, clapping me suddenly on the shoulder with such gentleness and force all at once that it sends tremor through me and all I can do is nod in agreement, because he has no idea how right he is.

_And how wrong he is, all at once_.

"Of course," I mumble then, careful to keep my voice neutral as I add, "it was good to see you all, and thank you again. But, I think I should take care of things." And then I excuse myself and head with no more distractions to the bedroom, where I will confront the man I love.

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As I stand before the door I wonder what I will say, what I will do. In seeing Hiei and I as he had, however mislead they were, Yuusuke had made assumptions — and for this I cannot fault him because I will readily admit that I would have done the same, were the roles reversed. I know that damage has been done to our relationship and no matter how much this pains me, I must be able to shoulder it. How much damage has been done remains to be seen. And while I know I am ultimately innocent of any wrongdoing and that whatever foul things he will say to me are unwarranted, I know they will sting nonetheless.

My hand lingers on the doorknob, conscious of the possibility that the catch may not give if I try to turn it. And I wonder what will happen if this is the case. If he does not wish to see me, speak to me, or even just let _me_ explain, there is nothing I can do. And while this seems to be unfair because I know I am innocent of wrongdoing, ultimately, it all falls back on those conclusions Yuusuke drew from the few moments he saw of Hiei and I. For as adept as I am at reading my opponents' thoughts, for being able to see anything five moves ahead in time, even I can not see how this will play out. And this uncertainty sits poorly with me. I feel utterly ill.

"Enough," I sigh, resolutely after a further moment of silent mental deliberation. "Whatever awaits me behind that door, or in front of it, be it the case, I have to face it. Putting it off will only worsen things," I tell myself, knowing that the words are true, even if this knowledge does little to ease the ill feeling in my stomach.

I sigh, one final hopeful breath, and turn the doorknob. Much to my surprise, the jamb gives way and the door swings open unobtrusively on weathered, creaking hinges.

_Much more surprisingly, I am not greeted with a flying fist to the face the second I clear the threshold into the room._

Not dwelling on this small miracle for more than a fleeting moment I call out a tentative, "Yuusuke?" as my eyes skin the room, knowing that regardless of if he answers, I will find him if he is, indeed, in here, as Kuwabara had suspected he would be.

"Yuusuke," I call again, more softly, taking a few tentative steps into the room when I see him sitting on the bed.

The room is set up so that one sees the bed first upon entering the room, as it sits with the headboard against the adjacent wall, the bed centered in the middle of it. A matching end table sits along either side. My bedside table harbors a picture of Shiori and a single red rose in an ornately carved crystal vase. Yuusuke's has a picture of Moriko as a baby in her grandmother's arms and, normally, a picture of he and Keiko in front of her parent's Ramen-ya the day of his proposal.

At the moment, I only see Moriko's baby picture.

I assume, with a pang of jealousy and disgust — disgust because I feel jealous at all — that because his back is turned to me, he is holding the picture himself.

"Oh, Yuusuke," I whisper, more to myself than to him, though perhaps because of his heightened demonic hearing abilities he hears me. "I am so sorry…"

When he does not acknowledge the apology, and I little expected he would, seeing as it had been barely audible, I take a few more tentative steps into the room, closing the physical distance between us while still feeling the unimaginably huge chasm of emotional distance between us — the magnitude of which threatens to steamroll me at any given moment.

When I am close enough, I reach out a hand, willing myself to even just clasp him on the shoulder. But even though I had not been subjected to an angry fist upon entering the room, I still do not know how receptive he is to my touch right now, so I hesitate. And when I see over his shoulder that he has indeed been commiserating over the old photo of Keiko and himself, I let the hand drop altogether, a thread of pain slicing through my heart at the sight. I know he is aware of me, knows I am in the room. But I respect his choice to acutely ignore my presence, painful though it is for me to do it.

And then, with the subtlest shift of his body on the mattress and the slightest movement I notice something else in his hand. I watch as he sets down the picture with reverence, head bowed, his gaze never wavering from its focus on his younger self, and start in horror when his hands take to cradling a small, black handgun.

A knot forms in the back of my throat and I am aware of the keening sound I am making as I attempt to force some meaningful words past the thing, but nothing except a strangled sort of choke will meander past my lips. And when I gulp to clear my throat, it feels like I am swallowing a ball of sandpaper.

But the effort allows a meaningful, albeit winded, "Yuusuke!" to croak past my suddenly dry lips.

Then he turns to me, chestnut eyes a blank space. Once, when I looked into them, I could see his soul and the unabashed love and thanks he felt for me staring back at me. Now they are empty, one-dimensional and cold. He is looking at me in a way that says he is not at all seeing me and is probably beyond seeing anything at all.

And it stabs me in the heart, doubles me over inside, to see him regarding me this way.

"Kurama," he says, quietly, so quietly that the grief in the syllables crashes into me and winds me, sends me onto the bed beside him, because my legs have fallen out from under me and I am powerless to support my own weight.

He flinches at the proximity and moves a bit to put distance between us. For as small as the gesture is, it feels like a slap in the face to me, and I have trouble looking up at him. I know he is watching me. Since he turned to look at me initially those haunted eyes have not strayed from me for a second, and now, now I am having trouble meeting his gaze.

I do not want to let him see into my eyes this way, do not want him to see the pain this causes me. Even now, after so many human years, bad habits — particularly ones harbored by my demonic alter ego, as it were — have proven difficult to break, and to show my emotions so unabashedly has never been easy. Now, when it should be second nature, when it is of the utmost importance and may be the only thing left for salvaging our mangled relationship, I am having trouble. And I curse myself mentally for my reluctance.

Finally I manage to drag my eyes to his level and I like the look in them, the pain on the blank surface of them, even less than I had before seeing into them eye-to-eye. But I do not look away as I tell him, confidently, "Yuusuke, Yuusuke I am _so_ sorry. What you saw — it was a mistake. It was not what you think, I promise you."

At the words he looks away from me, head hung, and goes back to regarding the pistol in his hands that I do not like and am trying to figure out how to take away from him.

To give him a minute to allow my words to sink in and to let myself contemplate how to wrangle the small handgun from him, I twist on the bed so that I am facing the closed bedroom door that he still has his back to, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he is.

Suddenly I feel the mattress shift beneath my and I cut my eyes to the side to see Yuusuke shifting on the bed. He does not come flush with me, to face the door, but moves in a sharp ninety degree angle so that he is looking at my profile. The scrutiny I feel under his gaze this way is uncomfortable, but bearable, and I shuffle my shoulders uneasily to push the feeling aside.

Then, suddenly, he tells me, in a voice that is no less wounded than it had been when he had stuttered my name out on the porch earlier, "you know, I don't know what to think, Kurama."

And to be perfectly honest, although I had figured this conversation would not be easy and that he would doubt my words, true as they were, hearing him admit that he truly does not believe me, outright, cuts me deep and leaves me feeling utterly raw inside. Part of me had truly hoped — however naively — that since he loved me, he would accept my words point blank and that would be the end of this nightmare.

"I know, Yuusuke," I assure him in my best understanding voice, though to say as much feels like I am cutting a piece of myself away. "I understand that after what you saw, it is hard to accept my words for what they are," I add, alluding to the fact that I accepted and had expected his conclusions.

"You know, Kurama," he tells me then, almost candidly, except that I know the nuances of his voice well enough to know he is only attempting to mask the pain, "I know how you felt about Hiei…"

This takes me aback, and I reel at the blatant accusation in his tone. But before I can get the words out to deny it, he continues on.

"—Not unlike how I felt about Keiko — feel, really, but you know that —" he adds as an afterthought, before continuing, "I guess… I guess the only difference in our circumstances—," and here he swallows hard, "—is that Keiko left and _can't _come back and Hiei… well…"

"Wait, wait," I cut in finally, managing to find my voice after a long moment of stunned disbelief. "How can you _even suggest _that, Yuusuke? After all of _this_—" I wave a hand in front of me, suddenly angry. "_How_ can you _think _that after everything we have _both _been though, that I could _still _feel _that _way towards _him?_" I am pleased that at saying 'him' in allusion to Hiei, my voice takes on a note of anger.

_Good._

"Kurama," he tells me then, and there is a sigh in my name that sounds remarkably calm, and almost demeaning. "It's okay. D'you think I wouldn't do the same if Keiko were still here?"

And this, more than anything else he has said to me, stings.

_More than stings_, my conscience admits, grudgingly. _Utterly shatters me, is more like it._

"That is… different," I assure him, my voice catching only slightly as I say the words. "You did not have a choice in letting go — I did."

"Doesn't matter," he tells me, quietly, and there is finality in the words — in his tone overall — that sends a chill racing down my spine and elicits a shudder from me.

When his fist closes around the handgun, up until now nearly discarded and forgotten in his motionless hands, a breath catches in my throat and regardless of whether he wants my touch I reach out a hand and lace it over the top of his, to still his hand. I feel a tremor run through him from the contact but I ignore it in light of the sudden change in circumstance.

"Yuusuke," I warn, fear warming his name as it leaves my lips, "Don't. You know this is not the answer — if you would just listen — if we could just talk—!" I plead, my hand clenching around his.

But he tugs his hand harshly and even with my hand clenched around his, physically he is more powerful than I am and the effort on my part is wasted as he struggles to bring the muzzle to his head. "I'm sorry, man," he tells me, shutting me out effectively by not even acknowledging me by name as he twists the metal deathtrap in his hand.

Acknowledging that his physical ability and power surpasses mine I finally bring my second hand to the weapon hoping that, despite my physical disadvantage, two arms will outdo his one. "Yuusuke, please," I grit out between clenched teeth as I struggle against him for control of the firearm, managing to pry the thing down from his head a bit and at least force the muzzled away from anything that, if shot, would result in immediate death. This, if not as effective as wrestling the gun away altogether, was better than nothing. I would rather have him injured than dead, I rationalize, as I struggle against him trying to point the thing back at his skull.

"Kurama, I just—" and the voice is strangled, full of the strain of fighting against me as we grapple for the pistol in his hand — grapple for his bid on life.

_Two-to-one odds that his morality won't pay out, this time_, I realize, knowing that if he succeeds, Koenma will not give him another chance, seeing as he has already had more than the average human.

"No, Yuusuke," I tell him, heaving a breath before finishing, "No, because I owe it to you to explain this—"

"It's not necessary, man," he refuses stubbornly, "I understand. Hiei—"

"—Is a bastard," I finish, adding, "and you are the man I love—"

And all of a sudden a creaking of metal interrupts us and, unexpected as the noise is in the context of our argumentative, raised voices, we both jolt in surprise, and the gun fires off a shot that rips through the air like a crack of thunder in close quarters.

_BANG._

And just like that my hands fly from the firearm and I turn to Yuusuke full on, not caring that his eyes are utterly petrified and hardly aware of the resistance he offers up as I all but fall upon him in search of bullet holes and unnecessary bleeding.

It isn't until I here my name called, with so much shock, that I come to my senses and finally stop long enough to look Yuusuke in the eyes. Only then do I realize that he is not even looking at me with those wide, terrified eyes.

He is staring at the door that stands cruelly open, and shows a thankfully vacant picture of the living room. I guess Kuwabara had convinced the others to leave since my disappearance into the bedroom, and no doubt Moriko had taken off with everyone else in pursuit of spending the night with a friend, as Yuusuke had promised she could do.

_Thank Inari for that_, I breathe in quiet thanks.

But why Yuusuke is staring so unabashedly this way confuses me. No one is here — no one to know of our quarrel, no one to know of this escapade of his (for which I am eternally thankful that Moriko seems to have vanished), and no one to hear the gun go off.

_Except…_

' And it is then that I see it. What he had been staring at; what my own eyes had probably purposely overlooked out of disillusion or shock, or whatever emotion may have stemmed the lapse in my comprehension of the situation…

"_Kurama, I'm sorry…"_

And I hear the gun drop from Yuusuke's hand, momentarily stealing him from danger, as it lands with a muffled sort of _thud _against the comforter. And I hear him take a harsh breath. And I hear my heart, loud in my chest, and I hear the static in my brain and a million other insubstantial things aside.

And I see Hiei, on his hands and knees, painting the pale gray carpet of the bedroom crimson. And his eyes, as stunning as ever, linger on me in wide-eyed surprise and I cannot look away. And then he opens his mouth and I see a word forming on his tongue, but it is lost to a gurgle of frothy blood that spills from his lips.

And I see him fall, in slow motion, to collapse against the floor, a grotesque puppet.

And then I hear Yuusuke say something that sounds vaguely apologetic and I feel his arms embrace me hesitantly and feel his head come to rest against my shoulder. I feel shaking — but if it comes from me or him or the both of us, I am beyond knowing.

And I do not know how to feel.

There is horror at the sight before me. Yet, there is peace in the arms around me.

There is sadness in the picture painted forever in my mind, burned onto the back of my eyelids, and that I know will be the source of countless nightmares to come. Yet there is unimaginable joy in knowing that if I fall apart, it will be in the arms of someone capable of putting me back together.

There is guilt that comes from unrequited love and guilt from love borne of second-handed natures. But there is also acceptance of the fact that not all things are meant to be, and second-handed or not, nothing must be perfect to be genuine.

There is a sense of unimaginable loss. But there is a sense of insurmountable gain as well.

There is an end.

There is a beginning.

And Fate, it seems has come full-circle, leaving me just where I was some fifteen years ago when he walked away. Because even today, I was not the one to make the call, ultimately.

Hiei left me then, and he left me again today

Whether it is merely coincidental that it should end like this — and I should take comfort in knowing that this time around at least I have Yuusuke — or truly Fated, I do not know.

_But it is painfully ironic._

You see, fifteen years ago Hiei had told me "Kurama, we aren't meant to be together," and although I had sensed the lie even then for what it had turned out to be, he must surely have known something I had not when he had said it.

Because, obviously, we were not meant to be.

If Fate was any indication.

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**Author's Ramblings**: So, this is the final chapter of _**X Amount of Words**_. It was going to be two, ending initially at the BANG and leaving room for a nice little cliff hanger. BUT, I didn't figure I'd have it in me to make the short bit after that into a fullblown chapter, so I just smooshed it all together, leaving this as the end result. I know the ending is rather abrupt and I know that they are rather out-of-character. I didn't know how to get the story to go where I wanted it to without it happening. And as much as that saddens me, I guess that's life. But please tell me what YOU think in light of their characterization, plot, abruptness, the ending over all...... anything. Honest opinions are greatly appreciated.

So leave them at the door, name intact?

Blackrose


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